


Pilot Study

by sagestreet



Category: Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Torchwood References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagestreet/pseuds/sagestreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a sister who lives in Cardiff …</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pilot Study

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on livejournal. For masterpost go to: http://sagestreet.livejournal.com/

**Title:** Pilot Study

 **Author:** [sagestreet](http://sagestreet.livejournal.com/)

 **Fandoms:** Torchwood/Sherlock (Crossover)

 **Pairing(s):** John/Sherlock (Blink-and-you’ll-miss-them allusions to Jack/Ianto, Jack/real!Jack et al.)

 **Rating:** PG-ish

 **Warnings:** Er … crack? And some mild language. Other than that,none, really.

 **Summary:** _Sherlock has a sister who lives in Cardiff …_

  
 

** Pilot Study **

 

“Sister?”

 

“Yes, John. Don’t act so surprised.”

 

“I’m not acting … I … I am genuinely surprised,” John stuttered, putting the tea bags in their respective mugs. “It’s just that you’ve never told me you _had_ a sister. I mean, I know you have a brother, of course … It’s not like I could have missed _that_ ,” he muttered. (Sometimes he secretly wished that that unfortunate knowledge had been kept from him. Being kidnapped every other week wasn’t exactly his favourite way to pass the time.)

 

“She travels a lot.” Sherlock made a throw-away gesture with one of his long-fingered pale hands. “She works for British Airways.”

 

“What, as a flight attendant or something?”

 

“Don’t be sexist, John. As a pilot, of course. And a very good one she is too.”

 

“O-okay. Sorry.”

 

“We don’t see each other that often. She lives in Cardiff … With her boyfriend.”

 

“Boyfriend? Do I take it that there’s actually a Holmes sibling who’s straight?” John quipped, filling the kettle with water for the tea.

 

“Ah, well. It happens to the best of families, John,” Sherlock sighed in mock derision. “Nothing one could do about it.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, John could see his friend throw himself on the sofa, pull his silk robe tighter around himself and swing his bony, pyjama-clad legs over the armrest with a world-weary sigh. One of his long hands was trailing on the floor, and somehow, he managed to look like a bizarre cross between an elegant, yet underfed cat and a ragged _clochard_. “Mummy thinks my sister is her only hope of ever becoming a grandmother.”

 

“Understandable.”

 

“No, no, it’s not understandable, John. Once again, you’re showing a complete lack of even the most basic logic in your reasoning.”

 

“I wasn’t reasoning. I was just trying to be poli-“

 

“My sister’s not at all the motherly type,” Sherlock just talked over him. “And that boyfriend of hers shouldn’t be trusted around matches, much less a small child … Do you know how fragile these things are? … Like I told Mummy, it’s more likely for the two of us to find a surrogate and have a baby than for her to-”

 

“God help me!” John cried out. For a moment, he was assailed by the ridiculous and somewhat scary vision of a raven-haired toddler staring at him from out of the pram with a derisive sneer on his lips and an expression of overall smugness on his tiny face. “I think I’m going to have nightmares about this,” he groaned.

 

“And you should _see_ this boyfriend, John,” Sherlock ranted on, undeterred. “ _Cet … cet imbécile!_ ”

 

“What’s wrong with him?”

 

Sherlock’s bare toes were quickly moving up and down in the air now. “Well, he’s a doctor-”

 

“I honestly don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

 

“… very, very strange little man,” Sherlock muttered distractedly. “Rather short … And from London (that much is obvious) … Was shot in the shoulder … simple deduction, child's play …”

 

“Really, Sherlock?!” John called out over the loud hiss of the electric kettle. “A short Londoner who’s a doctor and was shot in the shoulder? I fail to see why any of this would disqualify him from being in-law of the year.”

 

“Oh, it’s just … you should see him,” Sherlock replied vaguely, shaking his head in a way that made his shiny black curls fall artfully across his marble forehead. “His boss, on the other hand, is a completely different story. Really handsome!” he declared, steepling his long fingers under his chin. “Sparkling blue eyes … Full of mischief … And then, that coat!”

 

“Should I be jealous?” John heard himself ask, pouring the hot water into the mugs.

 

“Don’t be silly, John. The man’s a brash American.”

 

“Well, isn’t that a relief?!” John muttered sardonically.

 

“Mummy would never allow it.”

 

“Okay … But she doesn’t mind an ex-army doctor, does she?”

 

“ _Jean!_ ” Sherlock said softly, the slits of his grey eyes betraying something akin to tenderness for the fraction of a second. “I think you already know the answer to that.” Then he added, “Also, Captain Harkness-”

 

“Captain Harkness?”

 

“The boss, John, the boss. Please do stay focused … He doesn’t like consulting detectives.”

 

“I don't see how _that_ could be possible,” John bit out, trying hard but failing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice and starting to fish around for the milk in the fridge. He found it between the bottle of rhinoceros hormones and the container full of human ears. “Who _does_ he like then, this boss?”

 

“Secretaries.”

 

“What a surprise!” John huffed. “A boss who likes secretaries.”

 

“Yes, and pilots. He likes pilots too. Secretaries and Air Force pilots.”

 

“Strange preferences,” John sniggered, pouring some milk into the mugs.

 

“Yes … and green-tentacled aliens,” Sherlock mumbled absent-mindedly.

 

“Are you high on something?”

 

“Not today, John, no. My sister’s coming to visit. Don’t you ever listen?” At that, Sherlock threw one of his slender arms over his eyes, looking, for all it was worth, like a long-suffering actress in a 1940s black-and-white movie. “Mycroft doesn’t really like him, though,” he added with a deep sigh.

 

“Who?”

 

“The boss, John, Captain Harkness. Do try to keep up! … Mycroft has to do all the cover-ups for him. That pterodactyl is a security nightmare, no doubt.”

 

“You’re really just pulling this out of your arse, aren’t you?” John laughed, adding sugar to the tea, three spoonfuls for Sherlock, one for himself. Then he hesitated for a moment and decided to go with two spoons of sugar for the remaining third mug.

 

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. “Facts, facts, John! … And unfortunately, it's a fact that Mycroft’s ex-boyfriend now works as a secretary for Harkness. Mycroft is not amused, as you can probably imagine. I mean, I told him that his ex didn’t leave him for the Captain. It was easy to deduce he went to this girl, Lisa, first. Cardiff came later, much later …  I told him. But would the posh git listen?”

 

“So, if this Captain … er … Harkness, if he fancies secretaries and Air Force pilots and … and green- … what was it again?”

 

“Green-tentacled aliens, John,” Sherlock stated importantly.

 

“Right … those. If he can like them, how come he can’t seem to find it in his heart to like a consulting detective?” John realised he was stirring the tea a bit too furiously now. But what were you supposed to do when your (still new) boyfriend admitted to finding another man attractive? How did people actually deal with these kinds of situations? It was all still a bit new to him.

 

“Oh, stop worrying, you daft sod!” Sherlock exclaimed with just a hint of affection in his voice. “I can hear you thinking from over here, you know … Harkness doesn’t like me because he thinks I'm stark raving mad.”

 

John laughed, feeling a bubble of relief rise in his chest. “Well, _that_ didn’t prevent me from falling in love with you.”

 

Sherlock just grinned, making the throw-away gesture from earlier again. “I suppose I didn’t make a good first impression on him.”

 

“I wonder how that happened,” John snorted, almost spilling tea out of the three full mugs he was currently carrying across the sitting room.

 

“He wasn’t too impressed by my theory that the sun goes round the earth,” Sherlock admitted in a grumbling voice.

 

“Neither was I, you know,” John muttered, carefully setting the mugs on the table.

 

“But _you_ , John, haven’t been to space.”

 

“So, he’s an astronaut?” John exclaimed in surprise.

 

But he never got a reply because, at that moment, there was a determined knock on the door downstairs. Moments later, Mrs Hudson’s excited, high-pitched cooing reached their ears, intermingled with another muffled voice.

 

Then someone’s quick steps could be heard on the staircase, and a second later, the door was flung open.

 

It didn’t even take her name to convince John that this was, indeed, Sherlock’s sister. The dark waves of her hair, the slightly condescending smile on her perfect, bow-shaped lips, everything attested to that fact.

 

And so it happened that John couldn’t fight back a smile when she stuck out her white hand and announced, “Diane Holmes, pilot.”

 

* * *

 

The End

 

 

 


End file.
